"Maria Dean-Crane." Jamie smiles, tired and radiant. "Yeah. That sounds right."
I lean down, kiss Jamie's forehead, then Maria's. My family. My whole world, right here in this room.
"Maria," I say, testing the weight of it. "Welcome to the world."
Outside, the sun is fully up now, streaming through the windows of the quiet clinic. Somewhere out there, the press is waiting, the world is turning, and a thousand complications are lining up to demand our attention.
But in here, there's just us. A new family, learning each other's shapes. A daughter who doesn't know yet how wanted she is, how fought for, how loved.
I pull a chair close to the bed and settle in, one hand on Jamie's arm, the other resting gently on Maria's back.
For now, this is enough. For now, this is everything.
25. Jamie
Six Months Later
I stand near the back of the room at Carter’s campaign headquarters, watching him work the crowd. Volunteers cluster around tables covered in laptops and scattered papers, their conversations a low buzz punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or groan as early returns trickle in. Someone has hung homemade banners across the exposed brick walls: CRANE FOR SENATE. NEW LEADERSHIP. REAL CHANGE.
Maria grabs at my collar, her chubby fingers finding the button and trying to work it into her mouth. At six months old, everything is a potential snack. Her dark hair has come in thick now, a wild halo that refuses to lie flat no matter what I do to it.
She has Carter's eyes but my nose, my stubborn chin. When she's frustrated, her face scrunches in a way that is pure Dean, and Carter always laughs and says he knows that expression intimately.
Carter moves from volunteer to volunteer, shaking hands, touching shoulders, saying something that makes each person smile. He's good at this. He actually cares about these people who have given up their evenings and their weekends to work for him.
"Polls just closed." Akari appears at my elbow, a mug of coffee in each hand. She offers me one. "You look like you need this."
"Thanks, you’re a lifesaver." I nod toward Maria. "She was up for hours last night."
"Damn, parenthood is brutal." She takes a sip herself. "How are you holding up?"
"Ask me again in an hour."
The polls have been favorable for weeks. People believe him. More importantly,Ibelieve him. I think he’s going to win but I’m nervous anyway.
Maria makes a sound of displeasure, squirming in my arms. She's picked up on my tension. She always does. I bounce her gently, murmuring nonsense until she settles.
"She's getting so big." Kate materializes on my other side, reaching out to let Maria grab her finger. "Hard to believe she was ever that tiny little thing in the hospital."
"I know. Sometimes I look at photos from those first weeks and can't even remember her being that small." I pause. "Thank you for coming tonight. I know it's complicated."
Kate shrugs, but there's something fragile underneath the casual gesture. "He's my brother. Whatever happened with our father, that doesn't change."
Whatever happened. Such a mild way to describe the complete implosion of a political dynasty. Senator Carter Crane II is currently awaiting trial on seventeen federal charges, everything from money laundering to bribery to obstruction of justice. Warren is facing his own list of charges that includes witness intimidation and conspiracy.
The evidence Kate provided was devastating. It was the kind of paper trail that makes prosecutors weep with joy.
I never revealed her as my source. I never will.
"First results coming in!" someone shouts, and the room erupts.
On the big screen at the front of the room, a news anchor is reading numbers. Carter's face appears in a small box in the corner—his official campaign photo, the one where he looks both serious and approachable, a difficult balance that took three photo shoots to achieve. The chyron at the bottom reads: CRANE LEADING BY 12 POINTS IN EARLY RETURNS.
Carter catches my eye across the room. He's trying to look calm, professional, senatorial, but I can see the hope cracking through. I give him a small smile. Maria waves her arms like she knows something important is happening.
The next hour is a blur of climbing numbers and cautious optimism. Elizabeth appears at some point, elegant in a cream-colored suit, her composure perfect even though I know she barely slept last night. She doesn't speak to me—she rarely does—but she makes a beeline for Maria, and her face transforms when she takes her granddaughter from my arms.
"Hello, darling," she murmurs, and Maria reaches up to pat her grandmother's perfectly styled hair. Elizabeth doesn't flinch. "There's my beautiful girl."
